


sparks from the fire

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [53]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Banishment, First Kiss, Loneliness, M/M, Magic Revealed, Merlin's Magic Revealed, Mutual Pining, Post-Magic Reveal, remix eligible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 00:22:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9691283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: Merlin has been banished. Arthur wants him back. But it’s never going to be as easy as all that.Written for Tavern Tales monthly prompt: Caves, Cabins, Cottages.





	

 

 

Inside, the cottage is sparsely furnished. There’s a bed in one corner, unmade, and across from it a long table, flanked by a squat wooden bench. Instead of dishes the table is piled high with the sort of paraphernalia Arthur recognises from the castle infirmary; apparently, Merlin had been paying more attention to Gaius’ lessons than he had thought. He ducks a low-hanging bunch of herbs while Merlin brings up the rear, still apologising for dropping an armful of heavy logs onto Arthur’s foot, and tries to find somewhere to sit amidst the chaos. 

 

“It’s fine, Merlin,” Arthur says finally, cutting him off in mid flow. His boots are made of thick leather, and in any case he is wearing several pairs of socks to combat the cold; it isn’t as if he were mortally wounded. He gives up on finding a seat and leans against the table instead. “I’m fine. No permanent damage done. Now, can we move on, please? I didn’t ride all the way out here so that you could maim me and then talk me to death.”

 

“You said there was no permanent damage!”

 

“Merlin. Focus.”

 

“I just…wasn’t expecting to see you,” Merlin admits, flushing. He shuffles his feet, raising puffs of dust from the dirt floor, and glances up at Arthur from beneath his eyelashes. “As in, ever. The last time I saw you, you said — “

 

Arthur’s jaw tightens. “I know what I said.”

 

“You said you never wanted to see me again,” Merlin continues loudly, as if he hasn’t heard. “And you’ve stuck to that statement pretty solidly so far. In fact, it’s been almost four years now, so you can imagine my surprise when I came around the corner and saw you — “

 

“I changed my mind, all right?”

 

“What?”

 

“You heard me.” Arthur glares at him. “I said, I changed my mind.”

 

“Will wonders never cease.” Merlin folds his arms and glares right back. “And it only took you, oh, three years and change to realise that you can’t possibly fulfil your destiny without me?”

 

“This has nothing to do with destiny,” Arthur snaps, but apparently that is the wrong thing to say because Merlin’s eyes narrow even further, and he looks like he’s considering what form of amphibian he wants to turn Arthur into. Arthur says hastily, “It’s because of my father.”

 

“Your father?”

 

“He’s dying.” 

 

Merlin raises his eyebrows. “Let me guess. You came out here to ask me to save him.”

 

“No, I—“ Arthur takes a deep breath. He runs a finger carefully along the edge of the table, feeling the rough grain of the wood under his hand and trying to organise his thoughts. “I came out here to ask you to come back.”

 

There is a long silence in the hut. Outside, Arthur can hear birds wittering in the trees; in the distance, a stream. Finally, Merlin sags against the hearth across from Arthur and lets out a quiet sigh.

 

“Do you know how long I waited to hear you say that?” he asks. When Arthur opens his mouth to speak, he holds up his hand. “No, I mean — for a while, when I first got here, I kept hoping you’d show up one day and tell me it had all been a mistake, that you didn’t really mean to banish me, and that you wanted me to come home.” He looks away, his voice dropping. “It must’ve been at least a year before I realised that just wasn’t going to happen.”

 

“I was trying to — “

 

“I don’t _care_ , Arthur!” Merlin’s eyes flash as he rounds on him, and Arthur wonders briefly if he’s going to end up turned into that newt or toad after all. “I trusted you, and you sent me out here. Alone. For _years_. I don’t — I don’t think you understand what that’s been like for me.”

 

Arthur swallows, and glances out the window. He had imagined, on the ride out here, that Merlin would be grateful for the reprieve, at long last; at the very least, that he would be pleased to see him, and would welcome the chance to return to Camelot free from the possibility of arrest and accusation. Of course, one thing Merlin could never be accused of is trying to make things easy for him.

 

“So, are you saying you don’t want to come back?”

 

“I’m saying I don’t know.” Merlin glances at him sidelong. “What’s in it for me?”

 

“What’s — ” Arthur sputters. “I’m not going to _reward_ you for lying to me since the moment we met!”

 

“What about for saving your life?”

 

Arthur scowls. Merlin’s head is cocked, his expression one of amused patience, but even after so long apart Arthur can read the edge to his look. He’s serious. Begrudgingly, Arthur says, “Fine. What do you want?”

 

“You’re going to lift the ban on magic.”

 

“Yes.” Since Arthur has already decided to make that his first proclamation, the answer is easy. Merlin takes a step forward.

 

“And you’re going to stop putting me in the stocks so often.”

 

Arthur snorts. 

 

“You could just magic yourself out of them again,” he points out.

 

“Not the point.”

 

Arthur shrugs. “I suppose I could see my way to doing that,” he allows. “ _If_ you stop getting into so much trouble.” It feels bizarrely like some kind of diplomatic conference, trying to balance his needs with those of a demanding and somewhat unpredictable ally. He studies Merlin’s face, thinking of the power he had seen him wield, and all the things his magic could do for Arthur’s kingdom. Perhaps this is a treaty negotiation, of a sort.

 

Merlin takes another step, close enough now that Arthur can feel the warmth of him in the relative chill of the little stone room. Close enough that he could reach out and touch, if he wanted to. 

 

“And you will never send me away again,” Merlin says quietly, looking down. Arthur can practically count the number of his eyelashes, the tiny movements of his mouth as he tries and fails to smile, and when he looks up again Arthur feels it like a punch; it’s the same visceral fist to the gut as when one of his knights manages to land a blow beneath his guard. “Please.”

 

Arthur says hoarsely, “I think we can both agree on that — ” and Merlin kisses him, completing his forward progress by stepping right into Arthur’s arms.

 

It has always been there between them, this heat, banked at the back of Arthur's mind since the very beginning, and he has imagined the culmination of it so many times that the reality has lost the power to shock. He tangles his fingers in Merlin’s hair and tugs his head back, baring the pale neck to lips and teeth, and Merlin goes willingly, yielding in this the way he does in nothing else. 

 

"As if I'd let you leave," Arthur growls, making Merlin laugh.

 

When the two of them finally break apart, Arthur says, “You were always going to say yes, weren’t you?”

 

Merlin grins. “Maybe.”

 

“So all that haggling…” Arthur brushes back a strand of his dark hair and tries not to smile. “That was you stringing me along?”

 

“I had to know, Arthur.” Merlin looks at him seriously, still holding tight to Arthur’s shirt. “I won’t be dragged back to Camelot only to be banished again the first time I do something you disagree with. If that’s how you expect this to work, then I’d much rather stay out here and save myself the trouble."

 

Merlin will not stay out here; that much Arthur has already decided on. The cottage is small and dark and far too cold, and Arthur has only so much willpower left. But more than that, Arthur needs him: for his kingdom, and for the dark days ahead, when grief for his father makes the whole world as bleak and lonely as this cabin. His head bows in a slow nod, and he leans forward, letting the capitulation of his body speak for him.

 

“If I can’t put you in the stocks,” he says, nudging Merlin's forehead with his own. “And I can’t banish you, then what _am_ I going to do to punish you?”

 

Merlin’s answering smile is sly, but very sweet. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he says. “ _My lord_."


End file.
